


Eye to Eye

by Auredosa



Category: Wizard101 (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Cyrus Drake just can't catch a break with me huh, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Memories, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa
Summary: She was digging through the Foreign Worlds section of the library, because she wants to know, has to know who they were before. Because back then, they had the same light blue eyes. They weren’t so different after all, they almost looked almost the same, back then.Who were they, back then, when they last saw eye to eye?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, Cyrus and Malistaire had to have shared eye color at some point, right?
> 
> Here's another short story featuring my wizzy OC, Ophisa Dominique, the same diviner from my first work in this fandom, When Lightning Struck Twice. She's slowly starting to get more fleshed out . . . slowly. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

Ophisa Dominique got it that sometimes when you ask the Spiral a question, the answer you’ll get, and the one you’ll have to put up with, is, “magic.” But, she’s also pretty sure that basic human biology still applies, too.

As in, Malistaire and Cyrus Drake were supposed to be identical twin brothers, right? (“What, I call them by their names. What of it?”) Meaning that they should look similar-very similar. And yet, for some aggravating reason that neither Professor Balestrom nor Professor Wu could explain, in every portrait and painting of the Master of Death himself, he has hair and eyes as black as a raven down, and skin so pale she wonders how he never got sunburnt living Dragonspyre.

She knew that much, at least, that they grew up in Dragonspyre.

One day, when she was digging through the Foreign Worlds section of the library, because she wants to know, has to know who they were _before_ , Ophisa finds a photograph. It’s in full color, printed in a book proudly titled _The Dragon’s Hoard: An Overview of Dragonspyre’s Elites._ The first name that falls under “D” is Drake, and along with it is a card-sized picture of the then-current household. All four of them.

It was so surreal to look at. Their mother wasn’t who she expected her to be. Iphedina Drake was strong, almost as tall as her husband, with a determined air about her and the family crest embroidered on her battle robes. She looked more warrior than mother. In her hand she held a perfectly polished war scythe. In the back of her mind, Ophisa knew she’d seen something like it before.

_“Is that for display only, Professor?”_

_“No, Dominique, but you’re still not allowed to touch it. Now take that bestiary back to Balestrom and leave me alone.”_

Their father, on the other hand, was about as evil-looking and menacing as it got. Did he choose to dress like a vampire for his family gathering? She couldn’t tell where his dark beard ended and the collar of his robe began. His hands were gloved in some shiny, well worn fabric. _Right, he was a pyromancer,_ she learned by skimming the brief biography of each family member. The only spots of color on his person were the blood-red gems that stuf the cuffs and sockets of his entire imposing ensemble. There was one set into a gold brooch underneath his chin. _So it’s a family heirloom, huh?_

_“You ever see that senior necromancer walking around? Name’s Daulton, or something. Why he’s gone and covered his staff in rubies? Aren’t those for fire wizards?”_

_“I don’t know, man, he says he does it in honor of his old mentor. No clue who that is.”_

And then, there were the Drake brothers themselves. Ophisa didn’t know where to begin. She couldn’t believe that the grouchy Myth professor who snarled at her every day once had an afro- _seriously, what happened?_ He looked so much . . . happier back then, a tiny smile on his fresh face. _What happened?_

But while Professor Drake’s old looks might’ve been surprising, it was nothing compared to her astonishment when she saw Malistaire. The big guy, the man who went mad after hid wife died of a cold, _yeah, sure,_ and tried to destroy the Spiral to enact his revenge, or something along those lines. Ophisa had only heard of him in stories, seem his name engraved outside the Death school house, been told not to ask about by the other teachers. But before the legend, there had to be a man, right? And before the man, there had to be a boy. A boy with short raven hair and a tiny thing hand on a simple magic staff, with his father’s hand on his shoulder and his brother beside him.

The caption underneath him told her nothing new, he was an aspiring necromancer shadowing his father at the Command Academy. It’s their eyes that make her start to wonder; who were they before? Because back then, they had the same light blue eyes. They weren’t so different after all, they almost looked almost the same, back then.

Who were they, back then, when they last saw eye to eye?


	2. Chapter 2

He knows of only one student that would have the audacity to visit his classroom so late after school’s gotten out, and he doesn’t exactly have the patience to see her right now.

“Come in,” he said flatly, not looking up from the paper he was grading.

“Hello, Professor Drake,” she chirps. She was holding something. “How has you day been?”

She wasn’t asking to be nice; he knew that for a fact. “Manageable, Dominque. What are you here for?”

She held out the creased envelope. It was filled with many things, from how thick it was. A letter? When did she start playing messenger for Ambrose?

“I recently had to do a research project about Dragonspyre. I found some pictures that I thought you’d like to have.”

Ah yes, because he needed more reminders of the home world he’d lost all those years ago. He knew what it looked like before. What could possibly be in this envelope that wasn’t already burned into his brain?

“I’m not trying to waste your time. Please, at least have a look,” she adds, and Cyrus noticed that her usual condescending tone was nowhere to be found. Odd. Well, it was Ophisa Dominique; it had to be something interesting at the very least, right?

He wordlessly took the envelope from her, slicing it open with a sharp letter opener. Cyrus removed its contents, and when he sees the first clipping, he’s immediately taken aback. These were pictures of people. People he knows, people he _knew_.

An old family portrait before he was shipped to the Command Academy, a picture of him and his brother in their old jewel-tone tunics before they were swapped out for a battle mage’s cloak and a soldier’s suit of armor, a headshot of him barely bigger than a stamp in his batallion. The last one he flips through was from right after they’d been discharged when the insurgency started. They’d both scraped through their own hells, and for the first time in what must have been an eternity, they understood each other. They still shared their eyes, back then.

None of them were particularly happy times, and they’re far from the golden moments he wanted them to be. But they’re moments from before, when these people were only across the base, not across the Spiral, and he can’t go back.

These scraps of paper are all he has left of a family that he can’t get back, and that’s more than enough for him.

Ophisa watched his reaction carefully, holding her breath as he thumbed through them again one by one. Then, he picks out the first one of Malistaire back in their Dragonspyre Academy days. Cyrus looked at the photo for a long, silent moment.

“He should be here,” he finally mutters. “His voice and laugh.”

He turned back to Ophisa. “Thank you for finding these.”

“Always-uh-you’re welcome, “ she stammers. “Have a good evening, Professor Drake.”

The doors have already closed and Ophisa’s gone before he can find his words.

“Thank you . . .”


End file.
